


What Shepard Wants

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Brothels, F/M, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard just has one errand to do before getting down to the business of recruiting her squad. She doesn't realise that Miranda's watching everything she does. Miranda gets an eyeful of hot intel in her bid to understand what makes the Commander tick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Shepard Wants

_“OK, Miranda,” said Shepard. “I can take a hint. We'll head to Omega first. I'll just have one thing to take care of before we get started.”_

_“Of course, Shepard,” replied Miranda. “It's your show. Whatever you need.”_

Miranda was burning with curiosity. She wanted to see something that confirmed that the Lazarus project had not just been a success, but that Shepard was everything that they said she was.

But she was also wary of letting Shepard off the leash so soon, and in an environment such as Omega, lawless and dangerous. Well, it would be a kind of test, she supposed, if Shepard managed to avoid getting killed or sold into slavery.

Miranda wasn't a fool. She wasn't about to risk two years of hard graft and enough credits to buy a small fleet of ships. She hadn't told anybody about some of the more... invasive upgrades she had worked into Shepard 2.0. The Illusive Man had vetoed a control chip, and while she disagreed, he was footing the bill. But he hadn't said that she couldn't rig Shepard with the best and most discreet tracking and surveillance package money could buy. 

Not only did she have a constant live feed of Shepard's location, but if she wanted to, she could drop into Shepard's sensorium at any time. She could see what Shepard saw, hear everything she heard, even feel what she felt if she wanted to.

She had tried it once, just to check that the system was functioning correctly, but this was the first time she felt thankful for it. Shepard had told them she was going solo on Omega and had given them a rendezvous in two hours. Miranda locked herself into her office on the Normandy and activated the system. She looked through Shepard's eyes.

Shepard stepped out of a cab and walked into a nondescript building. The tracker gave coordinates somewhere on a lower level. Maps of Omega were notoriously difficult to keep up-to-date, property rights being not so much respected as enforced by whoever had the bigger gun. Shepard seemed to know where she was going, however. 

Had she been to Omega before? Miranda hadn't come across the reference in her dossier, but it was certainly probable. The Terminus Systems were her stomping ground, and eventually all leads led to Omega. If she'd been chasing miscreants, chances were she'd come here for information or they'd come here to disappear.

The first floor was low-rent, unkempt. The kind of people who lived here weren't interested in company. Shepard ascended to the second floor which was, unexpectedly, empty. She went to a door a the end of the corridor and looked to one side for a moment. The door opened onto a discreet reception area. An asari was waiting there, a matron if Miranda judged accurately. 

“Commander Shepard,” she said. “It is our pleasure to see you again. We received your signal. Everything is ready for you. Please follow me.” Dammit, thought Miranda. How had Shepard managed to get a signal off the Normandy without her knowledge? She had all the systems locked down tight. Miranda comforted herself with the fact that at least it demonstrated Shepard's resourcefulness. 

Shepard followed the asari through the reception area, along a corridor lined with doors. What kind of place was this? Her question was soon answered, as Shepard was shown into a cosy windowless room, softly furnished and dimly illuminated. It screamed whorehouse to Miranda's eye. Shepard turned and nodded to the asari, who left and closed the door behind her.

Shepard hadn't spoken a single word yet. The one drawback of Miranda's unique point of view was that she couldn't read Shepard's expressions. Still, she could monitor heart rate and blood pressure, both of which were elevated. Cortisol was up, too. Shepard was wound up about something. Was she just here to get laid? Miranda supposed that it had been a while. Over two years if you counted down time.

That wasn't something Miranda would say to Shepard's face, of course. She was just a little confused. Shepard could have more or less anyone she pleased. She'd only have to crook her finger and they'd come running. What use did she have for whores?

Miranda watched as Shepard methodically unhooked her armor, stacking it neatly in the corner of the room. She wriggled out of her skintight undersuit and shucked off her sensible underwear. Miranda couldn't help but dip briefly into the full spectrum of Shepard's sensorium. The overlay onto her own senses was imperfect, but she felt the tension in Shepard's body, the pricking of sweat across her shoulder blades despite the relative coolness of the room. 

She withdrew as Shepard settled herself into a chair in front of a small dressing table. Shepard leaned in close and examined herself in the mirror. Finally Miranda could see her expression. Her face was a mask, as ever. She gave nothing away beyond determination and focus. Shepard's eyes tracked over her reflection carefully, spending time focused on her remaining scars, but mostly looking for something that wasn't there, it seemed to Miranda.

Miranda heard the door to the room open. Shepard sat perfectly still. Footsteps approached. A turian male stood behind Shepard in the mirror. Her gaze flickered up to his face briefly, but then dropped down and to the side, to take in a patch of not very interesting carpet.

Miranda flicked back into full immersion as Shepard's eyes closed. She heard a deep bass rumbling and felt two warm three-pronged hands close on her shoulders. She felt Shepard shaking slightly under the touch. Shepard rose and let herself be guided, a little unsteady in the legs, over to the bed that dominated half the room.

Miranda took note of the sudden heat rising between her legs. Shepard's legs? It was impossible to tell. She hadn't anticipated this drawback. She considered whether she should respect Shepard's privacy. Certainly she saw no need to spy on her while she was aboard the Normandy. But while she had her eyes closed in a whorehouse on Omega? Miranda reluctantly admitted to herself that Shepard's safety trumped her privacy, at least by her own rather self-interested criteria. So she gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the relevant sensations. Was the turian a threat? His grip was rough, but Shepard didn't seem to be complaining.

The turian pushed Shepard onto the bed. Batting at her limbs, he wordlessly arranged her into a vulnerable, submissive position, ass in the air, face down, knees spread apart, arms crossed loosely above her head. Miranda had shut her eyes to better interpret the second-hand feelings she was experiencing. She felt the softness of the bed covering under Shepard's knees, smelt the synthetic fibres.

The turian rumbled and thrummed but didn't speak. Shepard tensed the muscles of her face, scrunching up in anticipation. Her groin ached. Claws gripped her sides and she gasped. The turian slid his dick into her without preamble, and Shepard was wet and ready to take it. Its alien form, with its ridges and thick skin, was immediately, uncomfortably large.

Miranda gasped and cut the haptic connection. She heard Shepard make a small noise, something between a groan of pain and a sigh of pleasure. It was followed by a louder exclamation, no word that Miranda knew, but she recognised a certain note of desperation behind a more obvious enjoyment. Miranda took stock of her own condition. She had become aroused too, in the time that she had experienced Shepard's feelings.

Shepard started to make noises rhythmically, as the turian began to fuck her, Miranda supposed. Her eyes opened again, but Miranda couldn't see much more than the few square inches of fabric around Shepard's nose. They were animal, hungry noises. If Miranda hadn't known what was going on, she might have mistaken them for sobs of despair.

Shepard squealed loudly and Miranda reconnected despite her misgivings. She was hit by sensory overload. Every stroke of the turian's dick was painful, stretching Shepard's vagina in unusual and alien directions. But with the pain came an intensity of feeling that was a pleasure like nothing Miranda had ever experienced. She couldn't say if it was the simultaneous feeling of being painfully full and completely empty, confusing her senses and triggering her nerves to fire wantonly, or if every turian could fuck like that.

Shepard didn't like it that rough, however. Now she slid a hand behind her to grasp at the turian's wrist. “Stop,” she begged. “Please, stop!”

The turian batted her hand away and leaned into her harder. Miranda felt the blow, felt the weight and heat of the turian on her back, and curled involuntarily in her office chair. She felt Shepard compress flatter into the bed, her tits pressed down, as the turian fucked with even more abandon than before. 

Shepard had tears in her eyes. The pain was intense. But the fire in her belly was unabated, and she shifted her hips ever so slightly to allow the turian to probe her more deeply. Miranda knew some women liked it hard, fast, and rough. She wasn't usually one of them, but with Shepard's arousal overlaying her own she was confused.

A hand closed on Shepard's head, three claws spreading her hair and gripping her skull firmly. It pulled her head back, lifting it up, making her neck stretch back. The turian slowed his stroke down a little, but increased the power of his thrusts, shaking the whole bed as he slapped his thighs onto Shepard's raised rear end, making her cry out with each impact.

Miranda knew she should probably cut the connection, that she should probably have done so long before. She didn't need to be feeling this. She could barely justify it on the grounds of security. But she was fascinated. Nowhere in Shepard's file was there even an inkling that she was into turian dick, delivered repeatedly and at high velocity. Or that she would play such a passive, receptive role in a sexual encounter. Or that she seemed to be enjoying the discomfort of the encounter, the heat in her groin and the weakness in her limbs conspiring to inform Miranda of her true feelings, despite her brief vocal protestation. Miranda needed to understand what made Shepard tick. She maintained the connection.

The turian reverted to pounding away at Shepard's ass as hard and as fast as he could. She whimpered and moaned and Miranda felt all of it, every rough ridge of turian dick and every sharp twitch of claws in Shepard's hair. Slowly Shepard's muscles loosened as she gave up any last semblance of resistance. Miranda felt torn. She would never let herself be used like that. But even as Shepard was melting into it, hot tears streaming down her face, helpless and splayed on the bed, whimpers and cries of pain coming from her mouth, her groin told another story. Her wetness flowed freely, her sex was engorged with blood, discomfort and pain were the price for the electric pleasure that came each time the ridges of the turian's dick ran across her inside walls.

Just as Shepard was becoming insensible with feeling, her cries more like mumbles, drool spilling from her lips, the turian finished with a soft grunt. He thrust deep inside her and twitched and quivered through his climax. Miranda felt his dick expand and throb inside Shepard, who lay there and took it, eyelids fluttering.

The turian withdrew unceremoniously, releasing her head. He left immediately. Shepard hadn't climaxed. She lay there for long minutes, breathing wetly through her nose. Miranda felt her own frustration at being left unsatisfied. She could only conclude, if this was indeed a brothel, that this was the service that Shepard was paying for. Did she hate herself so much, that she wanted to be fucked and cast aside like that?

Miranda began to touch herself through her pants, then thought better of it. She wanted to experience what Shepard experienced, to understand why she would do such a thing. She had no doubt that it revealed some deeper aspect of Shepard's personality, would tell her why she was such a force to be reckoned with. Was Shepard reminding herself that sometimes the universe was unfair? That you couldn't always get what you wanted? Was it some kind of ritual she followed?

Presently, Shepard rolled onto her side and slid a hand between her legs. Her muscles grew hard as she curled around her groin, pulling in tightly, focusing all her energy on her slick, engorged clit. Miranda felt Shepard stiffening as she came, her own wetness flowing gently between her legs in sympathy. She was pleased that Shepard had not renounced pleasure completely. She could barely have begun to understand someone like that. As Shepard's climax waned, she mouthed a word silently, nothing but a structured exhalation leaving her lips.

Had Miranda not been plugged fully into Shepard's sensorium, she would never had known what that word was, but she felt the shape of it on her tongue, and let her throat tighten in the right way, ready to give voice to it. A name. That explained it. Miranda would lay bets, Shepard was punishing herself for missing her chance. Pining a little bit, too.

Miranda dropped out of Shepard's sensorium to think over this new data. A call came in on her omnitool. “Miranda,” said Shepard, not a trace of her recent experience in her voice. “I'm ahead of schedule. I'll be at the rendezvous in thirty.”

“Very well, Commander,” Miranda replied. “We'll be there. What's the mission?”

“Archangel,” said Shepard. “From his dossier, he looks useful.”

“Roger that, Shepard,” said Miranda, cutting the connection. She leaned back in her chair, and debated finishing herself now. She had a few minutes to spare. Shepard had recovered from her encounter with lightning speed. That alone was impressive. And she'd left Miranda a clue, a key to unlock the mystery of the great Commander Shepard. With time and research, she would understand Shepard, and then she'd be able to control her. But right now, they had a mission.

She could find out more about 'Garrus' later.


End file.
